V   ^^V ^  y 

\   »_^ — ^  «.< ^ 

W 


A     POEM 

BY 

MRS.  RICHARD  GREENOUGH 


• 


I 


MARY  MAGDALENE 


MARY    MAGDALENE 


A    POEM 


r\ 


MRS.    RICHARD    GREENOUGH 

MEMBER  OF  THE  SOCIETY  OF  THE  ARCADIA,   AND  OF  THE  ROYAL 
ACADEMY  OF  SAINT  CECILIA,   OF  ROME 


BOSTON 

JAMES    R.    OSGOOD    &    CO., 
211,  TREMONT  STREET 

1883 


COPYRIGHT,  1880, 
BY  SARAH  D.  GREENOUGH. 


TO   MY   HUSBAND 

I   AFFECTIONATELY   INSCRIBE  THJS   POEM, 

SUGGESTED   BY   HIS  STATUE  OF 

MARY  MAGDALENE 

AT  THE  TOMB. 


PALAZZO  DELLA  CONGREGAZIONE, 
243  VIA  NAZIONALE,  ROME. 


626030 


NOTE. 

AMONG  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans,  when  the  celestial  divinities 
were  invoked,  the  suppliant  stood  with  uplifted  arms  ;  in  addressing  the 
terrestrial  deities,  the  arms  were  extended  forward  ;  and  in  imploring 
the  infernal  powers,  the  arms  were  directed  downward. 


' 


JjJart  jti.pt. 
i. 

'TWAS  night :  upon  Jerusalem  the  moon 

Poured  her  still  splendours  down ;  the  purple  sky, 

Embossed  with  silver  stars,  majestic  spread 

Its  quivering  canopy  to  meet  the  dim 

And  distant  circle  of  th'  horizon's  bound 

In  shadowy  hills,  and  gleaming,  half-seen  plains, 

The  plains  that  wait,  the  hills  that  watch  around 

The  rock-clasped  pomp  of  great  Jerusalem. 

Fair  rose  the  city  from  its  mighty  belt 

Of  dark  and  rough-hewn  walls  :  its  palaces 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Crowded  in  sculptured  pride,  its  synagogues, 
Its  storied  colonnades,  its  myriad  roofs, 
Its  terraced  gardens  fringed  with  ancient  trees, 
Shone  glittering  in  the  rain  of  lucent  rays  ; 
And  in  the  midst  the  marvel  of  the  land, 
The  giant  Golden  Temple,  upward  soared, 
Far  flashing  through  the  stillness  of  the  night 

II. 

• 
Silent  the  city  slept,  but  on  the  verge 

Of  the  sheer  precipice,  stood  glimmering  white, 
'Mid  slender  cypresses  and  towering  paltns, 
A  stately  marble  pile,  whose  pillared  porch 
And  wide-oped  windows,  all  ablaze  with  light. 
Proclaimed  the  revelry  that  reigned  within. 
It  was  the  home  of  Mary  Magdalene, 
The  beautiful  and  the  unholy  one, 
The  Magdalene,  that  sinful  city's  boast, 
The  Magdalene,  that  sacred  city's  shame. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


III. 

On  this  soft  summer  night  the  high-born  crowd 

Which  formed  her  customed  court  was  gathered  there  : 

The  thick-browed  Jews  with  cold  and  cruel  glance, 

And  full,  red  lips,  within  whose  deep  curves  lurked 

Sarcastic  lines  of  brooding  discontent, 

Hardening  their  sensuousness  with  underchord 

Of  bitter,  biting  hate  ;  their  ample  robes 

Of  purple  and  fine  linen  folded  close 

Around  their  sinewy  frames ;  unheeding  all 

Their  ancient  rules,  pressed  thither.     Pliant  Greeks, 

Vivid  and  mobile,  panther-like  in  grace, 

As  serpents  wily  and  as  falcons  keen, 

Their  chiselled  features  flashing  with  the  play 

Of  their  astute  discourse,  enamelled  o'er 

With  apt  quotation  from  their  country's  bards, 

Inwrought  with  sophistries,  dank  poison  dew 

Of  unbelief  dark  tinging  every  thought, 

Clustered  within  those  flower-scented  halls. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


In  gay-fringed  robes  draped  with  well-studied  art, 
Their  golden  circlets  gleaming  on  their  arms, 
Their  dainty  locks  perfumed  with  Orient  spice, 
They  delicately  smiled,  and  subtly  sneered 
In  the  sweet  accents  of  their  native  tongue. 
The  young  patricians  of  imperial  Rome, 
Their  haughty  heads  set  on  unbending  necks, 
Their  very  courtesy  tainted  with  command, 
Their  slowly  moving  eyes  and  level  lids, 
Their  swollen  nostrils,  and  their  flaccid  cheeks 
Telling  the  tale  of  drear  satiety  ; 
Their  massive  shoulders  and  their  brawny  chests 
Showing  athwart  the  costly  broidered  folds 
That  wrapt  them  in  their  pomp  of  sullen  pride, 
Sought  in  that  chosen  dwelling  of  delight 
To  turn  their  memories  from  the  feasts  of  Rome. 

IV. 

These,  her  companions  and  her  courtiers,  lay 
Within  her  sumptuous  banquet  room,  their  forms 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Outstretched  on  downy  couches  round  the  board 
Heaped  high  with  luscious  viands  brought  from  far, 
From  east  and  west,  from  north  and  glowing  south, 
To  tempt  the  pampered  appetites  they  fed. 
Bright  glancing  wines  in  precious  vases  poured 
Their  rich  aromas  on  the  tepid  air, 
While  round  the  hall  huge  scented  torches  burned, 
Their  tall  flames  flickering  in  the  fitful  breeze 
That  swayed  above  the  city's  hush  of  sleep. 
The  smooth  mosaic  pavement  was  o'erstrewn 
With  scattered  flowers,  jessamine  and  rose, 
And  music  stole  forth  ever  and  anon, 
Filling  the  pauses  of  the  jocund  talk 
With  cadence  mirthful  or  with  murmurous  plaint. 

V. 

High  throned  upon  her  carven  ivory  couch 
Upheld  by  golden  lions,  silent  lay 
The  Magdalene,  the  queen  of  that  choice  court, 
And  listened,  listless,  fo  the  shifting  flow 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Of  sparkling  jest  and  wit-embroidered  speech ; 

But  when  the  singers'  voices  thrilled  the  air, 

She  raised  her  wistful  lids  and  gazed  afar 

As  though  her  soul  were  stirring  in  its  sleep, 

Nor  knew  the  life  that  lapped  her  day  by  day, 

But  solitary  dreamed  in  realms  apart. 

Her  soft,  white  limbs  revealed  by  silvery  gauze 

Through  which  their  lustrous  tints  like  moonlight  shone, 

The  waves  of  rippling  gold  that  crowned  her  small 

And  languid-leaning  head,  her  violet  eyes 

That  dewy  swam  beneath  their  deep-fringed  lids, 

Now  careless  resting  on  her  gathered  guests, 

Now  bent  upon  the  flower-scattered  floor ; 

The  rose-blush  of  her  childlike,  dimpled  mouth, 

Its  corners  drooping  with  a  faint  distaste  ; 

The  witching  rhythm  of  harmonious  grace 

Controlling  every  youthful  curve  and  line ; 

On  these  enticing  charms  the  torches  shed 

Their  bright  illumination  ; — but  not  these 

Alone  their  radiance  showed.     Around  that  sweet 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


And  melting  beauty  hovered  in  the  air 

A  strange,  peculiar  spell, — a  magic  art 

Some  of  her  courtiers  deemed  it, — which  had  might 

To  set  the  stamp  of  innocence  upon 

That  lovely  and  that  too  beloved  face. 

No  brazen  stare  of  conscious  guilt  confessed 

The  inner  aching  of  a  shame-pierced  soul, 

No  glance  of  florid  blandishment  proclaimed 

The  loss  of  all  that  woman  holds  most  dear, 

No  flippant  laughter  parted  those  young  lips 

To  echo  heartless  through  the  sumptuous  hall, 

No  word  of  plague-struck  meaning  dropped  its  taint 

Companioning  the  jests  around  her  board ; 

Unlike  all  others  of  her  sinful  caste, 

As  a  white  rose  'mid  flaunting  tulips  seen, 

The  far-famed  Magdalene  lay  silent  there, 

Her  every  beauty  beaming  fair  revealed, 

Yet  haloed  by  her  own  unconsciousness. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


VI. 

Now  as  she  listless  dreamed,  her  ear  was  caught 
By  sudden  harshness  in  the  tones  of  one 
Who  seldom  spoke,  a  swarthy,  gray-haired  Jew. 
A  shadowed  frown  disturbed  the  level  line 
Of  her  sweet  brows,  as  the  discordant  voice 
Came  rasping  on  the  warm  and  scented  air. 
"  A  beggarly  impostor,  nothing  more ; 
One  of  the  spawn  of  ignorance  and  craft 
That  swarms  upon  us  in  these  latter  days, 
Leading  the  stupid  multitude  astray  : 
Soon  to  be  smitten  by  the  very  hands 
That  now  applaud,  to  be  reviled  and  cursed 
By  the  capricious  voices  that  to-day 
Proclaim  him  as  the  great  Messiah  come. 
Most  fortunate  the  cunning  villain  is 
If  these  dear  friends  and  followers,  undeceived, 
Turn  not  to  rend  him  quivering,  limb  from  limb 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Forestalling  the  quick  day  when  Roman  hands 
Shall  mete  out  Roman  justice  to  his  crime." 
He  seized  a  crystal  cup  and  drained  it  dry, 
Then  set  it  down  so  roughly  that  the  tall 
And  twisted  stem  was  shivered  in  his  grasp. 


VII. 

A  youthful  Roman  knight,  a  stranger  there, 
Who  was  in  act  of  raising  to  his  lips 
A  rubied  nectarine  from  the  broad  vase 
Of  fretted  gold  that  stood  beside  his  arm, 
Turned  his  calm  look  upon  the  hoary  Jew, 
And  quiet  answered,  "  I  have  yet  to  learn 
What  crime  may  lurk  in  teachings  such  as  those 
Myself  have  heard  from  him  thou  thus  contemn'st 
Last  week  as  I  was  travelling  hither,  near 
The  hostel  where  I  tarried  for  the  night, 
This  cunning  villain,  as  thou  call'st  him,  stood 
And  taught  the  wondering  multitude  his  faith. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


As  in  the  hostel  not  a  soul  was  left, 
But  all  had  crowded  thither,  I  too  went 
To  see  what  novel  folly  moved  them  thus. 
I  stood  and  listened     Cavil  as  thou  wilt, 
He  spoke  as  never  mortal  spoke  before  !  " 

VIII. 

A  burst  of  laughter  loud  its  greeting  gave 
To  the  young  Roman's  words.     The  elder  knight 
Who  had  companioned  there  his  kinsman,  bent 
His  mocking  gaze  upon  him,  and  besought 
He  would  not  stint  such  unaccustomed  fare, . 
But  generously  share  with  all  the  guests 
The  wondrous  teachings  of  this  latest  fool. 
With  haughty  glance  the  young  patrician  scanned 
The  eager,  jeering  faces  round  the  board, 
And  slow  replied,  "  I  doubt  me  if  the  words 
This  peasant  spoke,  could  find  an  entrance  here. 
He  told  of  truth  and  purity  and  good : 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


He  taught  God  is  a  spirit,  and  as  such 
Must  worshipped  be  in  spirit,  and  in  life 
Of  noble  deeds,  of  love  from  man  to  man  ; 
Counting  no  cost  too  great  to  win  that  pearl 
Of  price,  the  spirit's  holiness."     He  paused 
And  looked  around  upon  the  silent  throng. 

IX. 

His  circling  glance  fell  on  the  Magdalene. 
Half  raised  upon  her  rounded  arm  she  leaned, 
Bent  forward  in  a  line  of  wavy  grace  ; 
Her  golden  head  inclined  to  catch  his  words, 
Her  eyes  attentive  fixed  upon  his  face, 
With  parted  lips  she  listened  from  her  couch. 
Sudden  before  that  loveliness  all  thought 
Of  the  poor  peasant  faded  from  the  mind 
Of  the  young  Roman.     "  How  divinely  fair 
The  woman  is  !    No  marvel  that  her  fame 
Has  passed  the  far  gates  of  imperial  Rome. 
How  exquisite  her  posture  !    What  delight 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


To  lavish  kisses  on  those  deep-fringed  lids  ! " 

But  as  he  speechless  gazed,  her  eyes  looked  forth 

Mutely  imploring,  and  her  low  voice  came 

With  mild  entreaty,  "  Probus,  is  there  more  ?  " 

And  with  the  instant  habit  of  command 

Learned  from  his  Stoic  tutor,  pressing  down 

The  quick  desires  high-foaming  in  his  heart, 

Obedient  to  her  will,  he  spoke  again. 

"  The  people  thronged  about  him  as  he  taught, 

And  listened  stirless ;  while  the  slow  tears  ran 

Down  many  a  rugged  cheek,  and  women  sobbed 

When  he,  uplifting  both  his  arms,  thus  cried  ; 

'  Oh  ye,  my  weary  ones,  behold  your  rest ! 

Lay  down  your  burden,  lay  it  on  my  neck, 

And  I  will  bear  it  for  you.     Cast  aside 

Your  sins  :  learn  love  and  holiness  and  peace  ! " 

The  stranger  ceased.     For  some  brief  moments'  space 

An  unaccustomed  silence  brooded  round  ; 

Then,  as  if  shaking  off  unwelcome  thought, 

Gay  jest  and  jocund  laughter  reigned  anew. 


MARY  AfAGDALENE. 


X. 

As  one  who  hearkens  wondering  to  some  strain 
Of  novel  harmonies,  nor  can  descry 
The  fulness  of  the  meaning  of  those  sweet 
Far-reaching  modulations,  but  perplexed 
And  baffled,  seeks  in  vain  to  seize  some  clue 
To  guide  him  through  their  beauteous  labyrinth, 
The  Magdalene  had  listened  to  the  words 
Of  the  young  knight ;  and  now,  neglected  all 
Her  customed  court  of  ardent  worshippers, 
Soft  as  a  snowflake  from  her  couch  she  slid, 
And  o'er  the  rose-strewn  pavement  gliding  slow, 
In  silence  vanished  through  the  sculptured  door. 

XI. 

Across  the  threshold  of  her  chamber  passed 
The  Magdalene  with  inward  look  intent, 
Nor  stayed  her  onward  step,  nor  glanced  upon 
The  flower-crowned  altar  and  the  marble  form 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Of  Aphrodite  smiling  from  her  niche, 
The  silver  bed  by  laughing  loves  upheld, 
Thick  strewn  with  rose  leaves  its  cerulean  folds, 
The  alabaster  vases  in  whose  cups 
Their  perfumed  lamps  were  burning  to  diffuse 
A  dreamy  twilight  through  the  softened  room  ; 
These  she  passed  by  unheeding,  and  toward 
The  broad  and  open  balcony  moved  on, 
And  there  she  paused.     Below,  the  garden  lay, 
And  from  above  the  quiet  moon  shone  down. 
But  on  the  lovely  brow  of  Magdalene 
Hovered  a  strange  unrest     With  clasped  hands 
She  stood  and  gazed  upon  the  shades  beneath, 
Then  turned  her  deep  look  upward  to  the  skies, 
While  new  and  vague  emotions  trembled  o'er 
The  fair,  transparent  mirror  of  her  face. 

XII. 

Vainly  she  sought  to  read  the  meaning  right 
Of  that  strange  tale  the  Roman  knight  had  told. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Like  to  a  wandering  wave-borne  leaf,  her  thought 

Lay  floating  helpless  on  the  heaving  sea 

Before  her  untaught  powers,  till  fatigue 

Vanquished  her  wavering  efforts,  and  she  turned 

To  rest  her  mind  upon  the  well-known  past 

Her  childish  life  rose  up  before  her,  far 

By  the  blue  waves  of  the  Corinthian  gulf, 

Her  gentle  mother  in  their  cottage  home 

Beneath  the  vine-clad  hill,  her  father's  voice 

Of  greeting  glad,  when  from  his  vessel's  side 

He  called  his  welcome  to  them  as  they  stood 

And  laughed  for  joy  to  see  his  face  again, — 

That  alien  Jewish  father  with  his  name 

Baruch  of  Magdala.     And  then  she  saw 

Her  youthful  mother  dying,  and  again 

She  heard  her  mournful  wail,  "  My  precious  one  ! 

Ah  woe  is  me,  thou  art  so  beautiful  ! " 

And  then  she  saw  the  white-robed  priests  who  came, 

Her  mother  dead,  and  carried  her  away 

Unto  the  gorgeous  temple  glittering  fair 


16  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

With  sculptures,  glowing  with  resplendent  hues 

On  its  rich-pictured  walls.     There  wealth  of  flowers 

Made  odorous  the  air  that  pulsed  beneath 

The  weight  melodious  of  sweet  songs  breathed  forth 

By  fresh  young  voices,  hymning  high  the  praise 

Of  foam-born  Aphrodite  ;  while  the  porch 

Stood  widely  open  to  invite  the  crowd 

Of  worshippers  who  changeful  filled  the  fane, 

Bringing  rich  gifts  in  joyous  homage  laid 

Upon  the  hundred  altars  that  between 

The  shining  ranks  of  leafy  columns  white 

Stood  ready  to  receive  their  offerings. 

XIII. 

There  had  she  passed  her  days  of  early  youth, 
There  learned  to  chant  the  ringing  odes  of  praise, 
To  strike  the  sounding  cithern,  and  to  weave 
The  graceful  circles  of  the  mystic  dance 
That  daily  imaged  to  the  fringing  crowd 
The  worship  of  the  goddess  whom  she  served. 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  17 

There  had  she  lived,  caressed  and  praised  by  all 
Who  ministered  beneath  the  temple  roof, 
Proclaimed  the  favourite  priestess  of  the  shrine ; 
While  gifts  more  costly  than  all  others  brought 
Were  laid  upon  the  altars  by  the  hands 
Of  those  whose  lips  pressed  kisses  on  her  feet. 


XIV. 

Till  that  dread  day  when,  bursting  through  the  crowd 

Of  wine-flushed  votaries  and  flower-crowned  priests 

Around  her  as  she  led  the  mystic  dance, 

Her  father,  long  unseen,  had  made  his  way, 

And  seized  her  by  the  arm,  and  impious  words 

Dishonouring  the  deity,  had  shrieked. 

And  then  the  tumult  and  the  angry  cries 

And  threatening  gestures,  that  had  made  her  swoon 

Upon  the  floor  with  chill  and  anguished  fright. 

And  then  again  she  saw  the  haggard  face 

Of  that  dear  father  as  he  bent  above 

c 


18  RY  <VAGDALENE. 


Her  couch  that  night  and  whispered,  "  Come  with  me, 
My  daughter  ;  flee  from  this  accursed  place 
And  come  with  me  !  "    Again  she  followed  on 
Through  the  dark  corridors  and  vacant  halls, 
Until  they  stood  without  ;  then  made  their  way 
Unto  the  rocking  boat  that  bore  them  thence 
Across  the  waves.     Again  she  saw  his  face 
Show  white  and  ghastly  in  the  early  dawn. 
Poison  had  tipped  the  dagger's  point  which  deep 
Into  his  side  had  pierced  in  that  fierce  fray 
With  Aphrodite's  raging  priests  ;  and  thus 
He  died,  imploring  with  his  latest  breath 
That  to  Judea  she  would  flee,  nor  make 
Again  her  home  within  those  temple  walls 
Whence  he  had  ransomed  her  at  well  spent  cost 
Of  his  own  life. 

XV. 

Why  did  her  father  loathe 
And  dread  that  gorgeous  temple  where  each  day 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  19 

Passed  in  rejoicing  dances,  and  in  song? 

Why  did  he  call  the  priests  accursed  who  taught 

Her  and  her  young  companions  how  to  please  ? 

Sacred  was  Aphrodite.     Were  not  all 

Her  high  behests  to  be  obeyed  wfth  joy? 

And  yet  her  father  had  blasphemed  that  name 

With  words  of  direst  hatred. — Then  he  held 

Another  faith ; — perchance  his  faith  was  true  ! 

What  was  that  faith  ?    How  should  she  know  the  truth  ? 

And  he,  this  peasant  teacher,  he  whose  words 

Had  stirred  such  vague  disquiet  in  her  mind, 

What  did  he  mean  when  he  besought  that  throng 

To  seek  for  love  and  holiness  and  peace  ? 

Surely  he  meant  some  other  love  from  that 

Which  had  been  taught  her  in  the  far-off  fane. 

And  holiness — the  word  she  did  not  know — 

And  peace,  oh  yes,  she  could  imagine  peace, 

It  must  be  that  she  longed  for,  but  in  vain. 

Anew  the  misty  veil  of  troubled  thought 

Floated  across  her  youthful  face,  anew 


MARV  MAGDALENE. 


She  gazed  up  to  the  distant  sky,  as  though 
Seeking  its  answer  to  her  questionings. 

XVI. 

£ 

At  length  she  turned  and  called  to  her  the  guard 

Who  kept  his  watch  beside  her  chamber  door, 

And  forth  upon  the  terrace  came  the  form 

Of  a  tall  Nubian  slave.     His  ebon  chest 

And  sinewy  arms  dark  shone  like  polished  bronze, 

His  yellow  vest  was  cinctured  with  broad  gold, 

A  short  two-edged  sword  beside  him  hung ; 

And  in  a  leash  of  twisted  silver  led, 

A  tawny  hunting  leopard  flecked  with  black, 

Followed  with  head  low  bent  and  stealthy  tread. 

"  Go  to  the  stranger  Probus  :  say  to  him 

That  I  await  him  here."     The  slave  passed  thence 

With  homage  reverential ;  and  again 

The  Magdalene  gazed  upward  to  the  sky 

And  softly  whispered,  "  holiness  and  peace  !  " 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


XVII. 

A  step  impatient  crossed  the  chamber  floor, 

And  close  beside  her  stood  the  Roman  knight, 

Flushed  and  expectant.     Eagerly  he  caught 

Her  hand,  and  on  its  yielding  velvet  pressed 

His  hurried  kisses.     Gently  from  his  clasp 

The  hand  was  drawn,  and  her  calm  voice  outbreathed, 

"  Not  so,  O  Probus  ;  not  for  this  I  called 

Thee  to  my  side.     To-night  I  worship  not, 

Nor  honour  Aphrodite.     I  would  ask 

Of  thee  alone,  if  thou  canst  answer  me, 

Some  question  that  myself  I  cannot  solve." 

"  Speak,  beauteous  one,"  thus  Probus,  "  speak,  and  I 

Will  answer  as  I  may  thy  questionings  ; 

But  say  not  that  to-night  thou  wilt  not  pay 

Due  homage  to  the  goddess  !  "     And  his  look 

Scanned  the  young  charms  that  lay  beneath  her  robe 

Of  silvery  gauze,  and  revelled  in  the  sight. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


"  Words  thou  hast  spoken  that  disturb  my  breast, 
She  slowly  answered,  "  and  I  fain  would  learn 
The  meaning  that  they  hold.     I  know  of  peace 
In  part,  not  wholly  ;  but,  what  is  that  love 
Of  which  the  peasant  told  them  ?     I  was  taught 
In  the  Corinthian  fane,  'twas  love  to  fill 
The  cup  of  joy  to  all  who  yearned  to  taste. 
But  this  he  cannot  mean.     That  cup  of  joy 
Grows  heavy  in  my  hands,  my  shrinking  lips 
Are  weary  of  its  taste.     It  gives  no  peace. 
And  holiness — how  sweet  the  word — I  know 
Its  meaning  not,  but  yet  I  love  the  sound  : 
Tell  me,  O  Probus,  what  is  holiness  ?  " 


XVIII. 

A  mocking  flicker  gleamed  within  the  eyes 

Of  the  young  knight     "  Oh  thou  fair  cozening  snake  !" 

He  mentally  exclaimed,  "  how  deep  the  art 

They  taught  thee  in  bright  Corinth  ! "     Then  he  spoke, 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


His  proud  lip  curving  with  sarcastic  scorn. 

"  It  is  a  Jewish  word,  a  Jewish  thing, 

Unmeet  for  such  warm  lips  as  these,  unfit 

For  harbour  in  this  soft  and  snowy  breast. 

The  priests  in  gladsome  Corinth  taught  thee  well. 

Thou  hast  no  need  for  other  faith  than  this, 

To  scatter  pleasure  where  thy  light  feet  tread, 

To  joy  in  all  that  life  and  youth  can  give, 

To  worship  Venus,  and  due  honour  pay 

To  all  her  voice  proclaims  as  fair  and  good." 

He  closer  drew,  and  round  her  supple  form 

He  clasped  his  nervous  arm.     She  heeded  not, 

But  gazed  afar  with  wistful  dreamy  eyes. 

The  night  wind  brought  the  odours  from  below, 

Faint  and  delicious,  an  enchanted  hush 

Deep  wrapt  the  sleeping  garden.     Bending  down 

His  head,  he  looked  into  her  moonlit  face  ; 

And  as  he  looked,  he  saw  her  rose-lips  move, 

And  heard  her  murmur,  "  holiness  and  peace  ! " 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


XIX. 

"  O  Magdalene,  my  lovely  one,"  he  prayed, 

"  Hast  thou  no  word,  no  look  to  give  to  me  ? 

Thou  needest  not  these  arts  of  coy  delay. 

See  how  the  flowers  gently  droop  their  heads, 

And  rest  upon  each  other  in  sweet  sleep ; 

See  how  the  moonlight's  silvery  kiss  is  prest 

Upon  the  tender  grass  and  bending  shrubs  ; 

See,  all  invites  to  love  !     Behold,  I  sue 

E'en  at  thy  feet — I  never  knelt  before, 

My  Magdalene,  fill  up  to  me  the  cup, 

The  mantling  cup  of  joy  :  delay  no  more  !  " 

Sadly  she  turned  her  golden  head  and  looked 

On  the  impassioned  suitor  at  her  feet. 

"  Probus,"  she  said,  "  thou  art  not  like  to  those 

AMio  crowd  around  me  in  Jerusalem. 

I  felt  a  new  and  potent  strength  within 

Thy  words  to-night  when,  braving  the  rude  scorn 

Of  my  ill-mannered  guests,  thou  didst  unfold 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  25 

Strange  doctrines  spoken  by  that  peasant  poor. 
Behold,  I  have  no  friend.     I  dimly  feel 
There  is  a  something  better  than  this  life 
Which  I  have  led  till  now.     A  vague  unrest 
Torments  me,  and  faint  whisperings  in  the  air 
Come  to  disquiet  me  with  shadowy  hopes 
And  painful  thrilling  fears.     Something  there  is 
That  lies  beyond  the  circle  of  my  days. 
My  faith  was  not  my  father's  faith,  for  he 
Abhorred  great  Aphrodite.     How  shall  I, 
O  Probus,  search  the  mystery  within 
My  breast  ?    How  learn  what  the  unknown  may  be 
That  calls  me  with  its  half-heard  tones,  and  stirs 
Such  longing  and  disquiet  in  my  heart  ?  " 

XX. 

As  the  pure  voice  its  low  complaining  spoke, 
Made  eloquent  by  earnest  pleading  eyes, 
Sincere  and  truthful,  through  the  knight  there  sped 
A  dart  of  keen  conviction.     This  was  truth  ! 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


No  artful  weaving  of  a  shameless  net 

To  snare  him  more  securely  in  her  toils. 

His  mind,  well  trained  in  the  great  schools  of  Greece, 

Could  follow  in  its  course  her  troubled  thought 

Within  the  famed  hetaira's  breast  he  found 

A  blind  and  struggling  soul  that  vainly  longed 

For    light,  for  truth.      And  with    this   thought   there 

came 

A  rush  of  tenderness  within  his  heart, 
Tempering  the  sensual  fire  that  had  burned 
At  sight  of  her,  unsoftened  until  now. 
All  that  was  best  and  noblest  in  him  drew 
With  sudden  impulse  toward  that  lovely  one, 
So  sinful  and  so  sinless  !    To  possess 
Her  love  became  the  hunger  of  his  heart 
"  Say,    Probus,   canst   thou  help  ? "    With  hands  out- 
stretched, 

Her  sweet  face  anxiously  she  bent  on  him, 
As  one  who  pleads  for  a  most  precious  boon. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


XXI. 

He  rose,  and  mastering  his  throbbing  will, 

Calmly  he  spoke.     "  Yes,  Magdalene,  I  know 

All  thou  dost  seek  to  learn." — A  flash  of  joy 

With  quick  irradiation  lit  her  look. — 

"  O  child,  thou  deemest  thou  hast  learnt  the  lore 

Of  love,  for  so  those  false  priests  taught  thee ;  but 

Love's  secret  lies  beyond.     Not  joy  of  sense 

Alone  is  love  :  love  is  that  finer  thought 

That  does  inform  the  deeper  soul  of  man 

With  keen  desire  for  another  soul, 

In  which  its  hunger  for  the  beautiful 

Shall  find  at  last  its  sweet  and  longed-for  food. 

Such  is  the  love  thou  needest,  Magdalene. 

E'en  as  thy  form,  thy  soul  is  beautiful  j 

It  craves  for  union  with  another  soul, 

And  solitary  mourns  its  lonely  lot. 

Listen,  beloved  one,  and  I  will  teach 

A  deeper  lore  than  any  thou  hast  learnt 


28  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

Give  to  my  soul  thine  own,  and  thou  shalt  know 
What  the  great  gods'  best  gift  to  man  has  been. 
The  still  closed  petals  of  thy  heart  shall  ope 
As  flowers  open  to  the  sun's  soft  light 
The  vague  disquiet  of  thy  breast  shall  melt 
As  clouds  of  night  before  day's  tender  dawn. 
Come  to  my  arms ;  there  shalt  thou  find  thy  rest, 
Thy  every  hope,  thy  every  dream  fulfilled  !  " 
Earnest  his  deep  tones  thrilled  upon  the  air, 
Fervent  the  look  he  bent  upon  her  face. 
She  stilly  spoke  ;  "  But,  Probus,  I  would  learn 
Of  holiness  :  thou  teachest  but  of  love  !  " 

XXII. 

A  sudden  whirl  of  burning  passion  swept 
Throughout  his  frame.     He  smote  upon  his  brow 
With  his  clenched  hand.     "  Thrice  cursed  fool  was  I 
To  tell  thee  of  this  prating  Nazarene  ! 
What  are  his  words  to  thee  ?    Thou  know'st  not  him, 
Nor  ever  will  know.     That  man  loves  thee  not : 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  29 

He  cannot  love  thee,  being  what  thou  art. 

The  holiness  thou  seekest  is  a  bar 

For  ever  raised  between  thy  soul  and  his. 

But  I — I  love  thee,  branded  as  thou  art 

By  pious  scorn  :  I  love  thee,  Magdalene  ! 

Give  me  thy  love,  and  I  will  bear  thee  hence, 

And  'mid  the  splendours  of  imperial  Rome 

Will  live  for  thee,  will  love  but  thee  alone  !  " 

He  caught  her  in  his  eager  arms,  and  pressed 

Devouring  kisses  on  her  rippling  hair, 

Her  brow,  her  cheek,  her  lips.     With  faint,  low  cry 

She  tore  herself  away,  and  through  the  gloom 

Fled  like  a  shadowy  vision  from  his  view. 

XXIII. 

Silent  he  stood.     The  great  veins  in  his  throat 
Sent  crowding  currents  to  his  surging  brain. 
The  moonlight  streamed  upon  the  grassy  lawns, 
A  bird  sang  softly  in  the  midnight  hush, 
A  faint  breeze  stirred  the  branches  of  the  trees. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Slowly  his  calm  returned.     A  bitter  smile 

Wreathed  his  stern  lips.     "  A  whim,  a  passing  whim  ! 

He  sneering  muttered.     "  She  is  like  her  kind. 

As  clouds  upon  the  wind-tormented  sky 

Their  fancies  come  and  go. — She  pines  for  Greece. 

An  alien  in  this  harsh,  barbaric  land, 

She  longs  again  for  Corinth,  and  the  gay 

And  flower-scented  pleasures  of  her  days 

In  that,  her  early  home. — It  were  as  wise 

To  plant  an  acorn  in  a  fountain's  cup, 

And  look  to  see  it  grow,  as  to  believe 

This  change  from  all  she  has  been,  to  a  life 

That  deals  with  problems  such  as  these  her  sick 

And  yearning  fancy  broods  on  to  my  cost. 

But  she  will  change  again  ;  and  I  can  wait. 

No  Vestal  art  thou,  Mary  Magdalene  !  " 


i. 

THE  sun  shone  bright  on  great  Jerusalem 

Proud  towering  from  the  plain.     Toward  her  gates, 

Covering  the  winding  roads  and  hill-side  paths, 

Came  crowding  on  a  mighty  multitude. 

The  Passover  with  solemn  summons  called 

All  pious  Jews  within  those  sacred  walls, 

There  to  rejoice  together  that  the  Lord 

Had  smitten  down  their  cruel  enemy 

In  ancient  times ;  had  wrung  old  Egypt's  heart 

With  anguish  for  the  death  of  its  best  loved, 


MA K  Y  MA  GDALENE. 


And  so  had  set  his  chosen  people  free  ! 
Grey-headed  sires  leaning  on  their  staves, 
And  little  children  with  short  tottering  steps, 
And  stalwart  fathers  with  their  sun-browned  wives, 
Their  youthful  daughters  and  their  hardy  sons, 
Each  bearing  wallet  or  some  scanty  scrip, 
Or  leading  fleecy  lamblings  for  the  feast ; 
Toiled  on  toward  the  consecrated  gates. 
Broad,  heavy  chariots,  drawn  by  oxen  dight 
With  gaudy  trappings,  leaning  wide  apart, 
Patient,  with  plodding  tread,  pursued  their  path ; 
And  covered  litters  curtained  close,  upborne 
By  half-stripped  forms  of  panting  servants,  blocked 
The  life-encumbered  ways  ;  while  horsemen  wound 
Amid  the  journeying  throngs,  and  frequent  droves 
Of  the  meek  beasts  foredoomed  to  sacrifice, 
And  camels  turning  vicious,  sidelong  looks, 
Their  tall  necks  rising  high  above  the  crowd, 
Their  round  humps  laden  with  vast  wicker  crates 
Holding  the  terrified  and  heaped-up  doves 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  33 

That  rigid  Jewish  rites  demanded,  mixed 

In  one  inextricable  mass  beneath 

The  frowning  city  walls.     Still  on  they  poured 

From  morn  till  low  the  sun  began  to  sink, 

And  scattered  grew  the  groups,  and  faint  the  sounds 

That  had  throughout  the  long  day  beat  the  air. 

II. 

But  then  came  hurrying  to  the  gate  that  looked 
Toward  Bethany  dark  nestling  'neath  its  trees, 
Fleet  messengers  who,  breathless  entering,  spread 
Their  tidings  through  the  city.     On  the  hill 
Appeared  a  serried  mass ;  and  from  the  gate 
Outburst  in  crowding  waves  a  multitude, 
With  joyous  cries  and  high  uplifted  palms 
Their  greeting  greenly  waving.     Nearer  came 
The  dense  procession  through  the  sunset  sheen  ; 
And  shouts  of  triumph  rang,  and  chanted  song, 
"  Hosanna  to  the  son  of  David,  King  ! 
Hosanna  to  the  great  Messiah,  come 

D 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


To  save  God's  chosen  people,  and  to  lead 
Them  forth  to  victory  ! "     And  as  they  drew 
Closer,  the  dark  mass  opened,  and  was  seen 
One  riding  on  a  meek  and  snow-white  ass 
Which  gently  trode  along  the  green-strewn  way 
As  though  it  loved  the  burden  that  it  bore. 
And  as  the  multitude,  come  forth  to  meet 
Their  great  Messiah,  gazed  upon  that  One, 
A  look  of  reverent  wonder  slowly  fell 
Upon  all  faces,  with  accordant  awe. 

III. 

Clad  in  a  robe  of  coarse  and  dark-hued  wool 
Girded  about  him  with  a  leathern  cord, 
Upon  his  feet  rough  sandals,  travel  worn, 
The  Jewish  Prophet  looked  a  Heaven-born  King  ! 
Calm  on  his  smooth,  broad  brow,  command  sate  throned, 
His  clear,  full  opened  eye  with  powerful  glance 
Seemed  through  the  secrets  of  each  heart  to  pierce 
With  vision  supernaturally  keen, 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  35 

Yet  filled  with  a  compassion  all  divine. 

Supremest  peace  its  stamp  sublime  had  pressed 

On  those  firm-moulded  lips,  which  wordless  breathed 

The  inspiration  of  immortal  love. 

A  solemn  joy,  an  awful  tenderness 

Rayed  forth  from  that  still  face ;  while  silence  spread 

A  pulsing  hush  around  him,  as  the  waves 

Of  human  life,  wide  parting,  swayed  aside 

In  act  of  homage,  as  the  Prophet  canle. 

IV. 

Beneath  a  shadowy  olive  tree  beside 
The  crowded  way,  there  stood  a  sight  full  fair, 
Which  on  another  day  had  drawn  the  gaze 
Of  all  the  curious  crowd ;  yet  now  unmarked. 
Close  guarded  by  a  band  of  armed  slaves, 
Their  scarlet  tunics  blazing  in  the  sun, 
A  sumptuous  litter  carved  with  rarest  skill, 
Mother  of  pearl  and  gold,  upon  the  necks 
Of  its  strong  bearers  rested.     On  its  height 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Of  rosy,  pearl-embroidered  cushions  lay 

The  graceful  form  of  Mary  Magdalene, 

Daintily  sheltered  from  the  westering  rays 

By  canopy  of  peacock  feathers  wove, 

Clad  in  pale  azure  robes  of  Grecian  fold, 

Whence  gleamed  her  snow-white  arms  and  jewelled  feet, 

And  crowned  with  wreathing  braids  of  golden  hair. 

V. 

Since  that  first  day  when  on  her  listening  ear 

Had  come  the  tidings  of  the  lowly  One 

Who  taught  the  people  doctrines  strange  and  new, 

And  promised  to  the  weary-hearted,  rest ; 

She  had  with  constant  effort  sought  to  know 

More  of  this  latest  Prophet.     When  each  night 

Around  her  costly  banquet  gathered  all 

Her  wonted  court,  attentively  she  bent 

Her  hearing  to  each  word  that  spoke  of  him. 

And  day  by  day  more  constantly  her  guests 

Of  this  new  Teacher  told.     With  bitter  scorn 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  37 

The  Pharisees  reproached  his  unbelief 
Of  all  their  law  held  sacred  ;  called  him  brand 
Of  hell-fire  cast  within  their  temple  walls, 
Which,  not  extinguished,  would  consume  them  all 
In  the  destruction  of  their  ancient  faith. 
The  mocking  Greeks  sneered  at  his  lofty  aim 
To  curb  the  headstrong  impulses  of  man, 
Holding  a  standard  up  which  gods  themselves 
Might  well  despair  of  reaching.     Romans  smiled 
In  cold  contempt  as  at  an  alien  feud 
Betwixt  two  parties  in  a  subject  state, 
Which  they  could  crush  at  will.     But  no  one  spoke 
Such  words  as  Probus,  since  unseen,  had  said 
When  he,  that  Teacher's  words  repeating,  filled 
Her  heart  with  wistful  thoughts.     Then  summoning 
The  trustiest  of  her  slaves,  the  Nubian, 
She  sent  him  forth  to  seek  among  the  throngs 
Crowding  the  temple  and  each  market-place, 
For  tidings  of  that  One.     And  he  brought  back 
Stories  most  strange.     The  blind  beheld  the  light 


38  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

At  his  command,  the  fevered  sick  were  healed, 
The  life-long  palsied  stood  upon  their  feet, 
And  at  his  word  the  buried  dead  arose ! 

VI. 

She  bade  him  back  to  ask  if  Jesus  were 
Mild,  gentle  in  his  tones,  compassionate 
Of  visage ;  whether  hate  and  scorn  for  those 
Who  knew  him  not  abode  within  his  breast. 
For  since  the  scathing  words  of  Probus  fell 
Upon  her  ear,  her  timid  heart  had  failed 
Beneath  the  burden  of  a  formless  fear. 
"Why  was  it  that  this  Prophet  would  not  deign 
To  give  to  her  the  love  he  taught  that  man 
Owed  to  his  fellow-man  ?    What  was  the  bar 
That  holiness  had  raised  for  aye  between 
His  soul  and  hers  ?    And  what  that  holiness  ? 
And  why  for  ever  ?    What  did  Probus  know 
About  the  life  beyond  the  dreadful  Styx  ? 
In  the  Elysian  fields  perchance  her  soul 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  39 

Might  meet  with  his  o'er  plains  of  asphodel 
Slow  gliding  on,  with  light  immortal  crowned  : 
And  he  might  look  on  her,  and  might  caress 
With  gentle  hand  her  lowly  bended  head ; 
Might  smile  upon  her  in  that  spirit  land 
Within  whose  bounds  no  shadowy  bar  might  be  !  " 

VII. 

Then  from  his  quest  the  messenger  returned. 
"  The  Prophet  hated  and  contemned  alone 
The  Pharisees  and  hypocrites  who  robbed 
Widows  and  orphans  of  their  scanty  crust, 
Pretexting  tribute  for  the  temple,  where 
The  Scribes  sate,  vexing  sore  the  patient  poor 
With  imposts  heavy  and  most  hard  to  bear. 
On  these  he  poured  forth  fierce,  indignant  scorn, 
And  scourged  with  wrathful  words  until  they  slunk 
Silently  cowering  thence  like  beaten  hounds, 
But  to  all  others  he  was  ever  mild. 
He  fed  the  hungry  who  around  him  stood 


40  MARY  MAGDALEKE. 


Forgetful  of  their  need,  the  while  they  hung 
Upon  his  words  ;  he  pitied  all  who  mourned. 
He  called  young  children  to  him,  on  his  knees 
He  held  their  wondering  forms,  and  bade  his  friends 
Learn  of  their  meekness  and  their  purity ; 
Warning  them  as  those  children  to  become 
If  they  would  enter  that  great  kingdom's  gates 
Whereof  he  came  to  tell." — She  sate  in  thought — 
"  Then  purity  was  there ;  a  child  was  pure 
Leading  its  childlike  life.     Her  life  was  not 
Like  to  a  child's  life  of  unconscious  days. 
Could  purity  and  holiness  be  one?" 

VIII. 

And  so  she  dwelt  in  silent  questionings. 

A  spiritual  hunger  daily  grew 

Within  her  breast,  a  longing  vast  and  vague ; 

An  aspiration  to  a  something  high 

Above  all  she  had  known  ;  until  this  day 

Her  slave  had  tidings  brought  that  ere  the  night 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  Prophet,  would 
Enter  the  walls  of  great  Jerusalem. 
And  she  had  thither  come,  and  waited  long, 
Fearing  to  lose  her  timorous  hope,  to  see 
The  Prophet  as  he  passed  upon  his  way 
Unnoting  her,  who  smitten  with  the  dread 
That  seeing  her  and  hating  her  were  one, 
Because  of  that  strange  holiness  which  raised 
Its  unknown  bar  between  her  soul  and  his, 
Lay  in  her  pomp  of  beauty,  with  her  heart 
Fast  beating  'neath  her  gorgeous  canopy. 

IX. 

At  last  the  Nubian,  from  the  hillock  where 

He  stood  arid  watched,  came  hurrying  to  her  side. 

"  Behold,  he  comes  !  "     And  moving  hastily 

She  knelt  upon  her  litter,  raised  above 

The  surging  crowd,  amid  the  tossing  boughs 

Of  feathery  palms.     Her  eager  eyes  she  bent 

Upon  the  coming  form.     Her  hands  she  clasped 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Above  her  bosom,  seeking  to  hold  down 
Its  quick,  tumultuous  throbbings.     And  he  saw 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  saw  the  Magdalene  ! 
The  eye  that  loved  the  beauty  of  the  flowers 
Rested  upon  that  flower-like  face.     His  look, 
Piercing  and  puissant,  clove  that  pearly  breast 
And  saw  the  struggling  human  soul  within 
That  blindly  yearned  for  purity  and  love. 
He  saw  her  past,  he  knew  her  as  she  was, 
And  a  divine  compassion  stirred  his  heart. 
A  look  of  mournful  pity  gave  response 
To  her  imploring  eyes.     So  passed  he  on, 
And  the  great  multitude  closed  round  his  form 
And  followed  him  toward  the  city  gate. 

X. 

She  did  not  weep,  she  did  not  cowering  hide 
Her  face  within  her  hands  as  she  had  feared 
To  do,  remembering  Probus'  cruel  words, 
Beneath  the  Prophet's  look  of  stern  rebuke. 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  43 

A  strength  undreamed  of,  from  the  Saviour's  gaze 
Flowed  in  upon  her  heart.     She  felt  a  new 
Transforming  power  move  within  her  soul, 
Which  drew  her  on  she  knew  not  how,  yet  felt 
That  she  must  follow  the  great  Prophet's  steps  : 
There  was  the  answer  to  her  questionings  ! 
But  as  her  servants  turned  to  bear  her  thence 
From  'neath  the  shadowy  olive,  and  she  bent 
Her  lingering  glance  upon  the  green-strewn  way 
Where  she  the  form  of  Jesus  had  beheld, 
His  look  of  mournful  meaning  smote  upon 
Her  memory  with  sudden,  vivid  flash. 
"  What  had  those  godlike  eyes  descried  in  her 
That  brought  such  depth  of  pity  to  their  gaze  ? 
Had  not  the  priests  oft  told  her  she  was  fair, 
Fairest  of  Aphrodite's  favourites  ? 
Had  she  not  all  that  life  and  youth  could  give  ? 
What  did  she  lack  ?     And  yet  he  pitied  her  ! 
Had  that  all-piercing  ken  beheld  the  bar 
Raised  by  that  mystic  holiness  ?     What  was 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


That  haunting  holiness  ?     It  was  perchance 

Something  she  yet  might  win  ! "     And  gladdening  hope 

Rose  in  the  bosom  of  the  Magdalene, 

Sweet  mingling  with  the  deep  and  forceful  want 

That  filled  her  soul  with  its  imperious  need, 

As  'mid  the  hurrying  of  the  eager  crowd 

Toward  the  massy  gate  she  followed  'neath 

Her  canopy  slow  waving  to  and  fro 

In  cadence  with  her  bearers'  measured  tread, 

While  far  above,  the  golden  sunset  sky 

Bright  with  a  radiance  of  new  beauty  shone. 

XL 

And  so  they  bore  her  to  her  stately  home, 

White  gleaming  'mid  its  deep  embowered  shade 

Of  graceful  cypresses  and  tufted  palms. 

As  in  a  dream,  she  crossed  the  echoing  hall 

Circled  by  statues  with  unsleeping  life, 

And  half  unconsciously,  she  glided  on 

Across  the  polished  floors  of  precious  stone 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  45 

Which  mirrored  her  fair  form  and  azure  robes, 

Until  she  neared  the  rich  embroidered  folds 

That  curtained  deep  her  guarded  chamber  door. 

But  there  she  seemed  to  wake.     Abrupt  she  paused, 

Sudden  drew  back,  and  with  a  sign  forbade 

The  waiting  slave  who  ready  stood  to  part 

Those  draperies  ;  then  turning  to  a  stair 

That  upward  led  to  the  broad  terraced  roof, 

She  sought  the  solitude  and  stillness  where, 

Uplifted  o'er  the  city's  hum  of  life, 

Fragrant  and  hushed,  a  little  garden  lay. 

Beneath  its  sheltering  vault  high  arched  from  shafts     - 

Of  slender,  sculptured  stone,  a  fountain  played 

That  tossed  its  diamond  sparkles  in  the  air, 

Besprinkling  dew  upon  the  quivering  shrubs 

And  starry  flowers  that  around  it  bent. 

This  was  her  favourite  haunt,  here  would  she  muse 

Long,  silent  hours  by  the  cool  fountain's  brink, 

With  vibrant  touch  her  ivory  lyre  would  sound, 

And  sing  the  odes  learnt  in  a  far-off  land. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


XII. 

Soon  as  her  sandalled  feet  had  pressed  the  moss 

That  carpeted  that  high,  secluded  spot, 

To  meet  her  coming  a  gazelle  sprang  forth, 

Its  liquid  eyes  with  welcome  shining  bright, 

While  from  the  latticed  cages  placed  around 

Arose  a  joyous  tumult  of  glad  calls, 

And  sound  of  fluttering  wings'  impatient  beat, 

As  all  the  little  minstrels  sought  to  catch 

The  gentle  eye  and  ear  of  her  they  loved. 

Their  love  was  precious  to  her  thirsting  heart, 

Forlorn  and  lonely  in  its  gilded  lot ; 

It  had  the  power  to  win  her  from  the  thoughts 

Rising  in  new-born  majesty  within 

Her  dimly  wakening  soul.     With  childlike  smile 

She  oped  their  tiny  gates  :  they  circled  round 

The  golden  tresses  of  her  graceful  head, 

Then  perched  upon  her  dimpled  shoulders  bare, 

And  nestled  in  her  soft  enfolding  arms, 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  47 

Until  their  evening  greeting  was  fulfilled, 
And  in  their  airy  homes  they  peaceful  slept. 
While  she,  reclining  on  a  marble  chair, 
Her  smooth  cheek  resting  on  her  velvet  hand, 
The  shy  gazelle  close  couching  by  her  side, 
Leaned,  gazing  forth  upon  the  deepening  sky 
With  eyes  that  saw  alone  the  Master's  face. 
Her  past  had  faded  utterly  away, 
And  of  the  present  knew  she  only  this, 
That  Jesus  silent  called  her  life  to  him 
With  summons  inarticulate,  yet  deep 
Resounding  in  her  soul. 

XIII. 

A  light  step  broke 

The  silence,  and  a  fair  Athenian  boy 
With  garland  decked,  advanced  and  bending  low 
Craved  humbly  that  the  banquet  might  no  more 
Await  her  coming ;  for  her  lordly  guests 
Impatient  of  her  absence,  marvelled  loud, 


48  MARY  MAGDALENE. 


No  greeting  from  their  hostess  to  receive. 

Slow  to  her  feet  she  rose,  and  gazed  around 

As  seeking  for  the  sense  of  words  that  strange 

And  void  of  meaning  sounded  on  her  ear. 

Then  through  her  frame  a  deep,  long  shiver  ran  : 

The  Prophet's  face  had  vanished,  and  she  was 

Again  that  Mary,  called  the  Magdalene. 

But  'neath  that  consciousness  she  felt  a  will 

That  stronger  than  her  own,  constrained  her  words, 

Charging  her  servants  with  attentive  care 

And  courtesy  to  minister  unto 

Her  guests,  while  she  in  solitude  remained. 

In  wondering  thought  the  graceful  Grecian  youth 

Turned  on  his  errand.     As  his  lithe  form  passed 

Noiseless  away,  she  called  her  constant  guard, 

The  gold-girt  Nubian,  and  mission  gave 

To  learn  where  Jesus  tarried  for  the  night. 

One  only  thought  she  had,  to  seek  for  him. 

A  strange  mysterious  instinct  bore  her  on, 

Awful  yet  sweet  compulsion  of  her  soul. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


XIV. 

As  the  moon  rose,  through  a  dark  postern  gate, 

Leaving  the  sound  of  revelry  and  song 

That  from  within  her  flower-strewn  banquet  hall 

Streamed  loud  and  fitful,  forth  the  Magdalene, 

Close  followed  by  a  band  of  armed  slaves 

Led  by  the  Nubian,  passed  into  the  gloom 

That  wrapt  the  city's  bound.     A  shrouding  veil 

Concealed  her  golden  hair  and  vesture  rich. 

The  tender  feet  that  ne'er  before  had  trode 

The  common  street,  now  meekly  tracked  their  way 

Across  the  broken  and  disjointed  paths 

That  led  her  at  the  last  unto  a  long 

And  lowly  building  raised  against  the  wall, 

Hard  by  the  space  where  the  Great  Temple  reared 

Its  shining  roof  into  the  moonlit  sky. 

But  all  was  hushed  and  still :  the  close-barred  gate 

And  narrow  windows  blank  and  stirless  showed 

£ 


50  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

In  that  mute  hour.     Entrance  she  dared  not  crave. 

What  claim  had  she  to  urge  importunate 

Her  unknown  presence  on  that  wondrous  One, 

The  Jewish  Prophet-King  ?     With  throbbing  breast 

She  stood  incredulous.     It  could  not  be 

That  she  had  sought  in  vain  !    That  inner  voice 

Which  called  her  forth,  no  mockery  had  proved  ! 

It  was  no  daemon  summons  from  the  dread 

And  shivering  confines  of  the  nether  world 

Had  lured  her  from  her  home  !    But  as  still  lapsed 

The  leaden  moments,  and  no  sound  within 

Gave  witness  of  the  presence  of  that  One 

Whose  pitying  glance  she  came  once  more  to  meet,  ' 

A  bitter  wave  of  disappointment  chill 

Rose  and  benumbed  her  heart.     Her  yearning  hopes, 

Quivering  and  bruised,  sank  down  :  their  life  died  out 

In  sharp  and  shuddering  pain.     A  dumb  despair 

Crept,  crushing  every  struggling  thought  within. 

Anguished  she  turned  her  faint,  reluctant  steps 

To  leave  the  lonely  and  deserted  spot, 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


When  rising  softly  in  rich-blended  tone 
Of  human  pathos  and  of  heaven-born  might, 
A  solemn  canticle  of  prayer  and  praise 
Swelled  on  the  midnight  hush.     A  strain  it  was 
Such  as  the  listening  stars  have  never  heard 
Again  since  that  last  eve  when  Jesus'  voice 
*  Intoned  the  hymn  his  followers  upraised. 
Deep  and  more  deep  the  waves  sonorous  flowed, 
Full  and  more  full  they  poured  upon  her  ear  : 
They  bore  her  on  their  harmony  sublime 
Upward,  still  upward,  till  amid  the  stars 
Her  spirit  seemed  to  float.     A  peace  profound, 
A  lofty  calm,  a  fervent  joy,  instilled 
Through  all  her  being ;  and  a  strength  undreamed, 
Mighty  and  forceful,  held  her  soul  within 
Its  clasp  majestic  ;  while  upon  her  breathed 
Compassionate,  a  tenderness  divine. 

*  Matthew  xxvi.  30.     Mark  xiv.  26. 


58  MARY  MAGDALENE. 


XV. 

That  strain  unearthly  set  her  spirit  free  : 

A  sacred  love  flamed  upward  in  her  breast. 

All  ignorant  she  stood,  yet  to  her  heart 

The  gates  of  Heaven  opened,  ere  her  mind 

Had  trode  the  first  steps  of  the  holy  way 

Of  wisdom  and  of  truth.     A  portent  high 

Of  saving  love  had  snatched  her  from  the  life 

She  knew  not  how  to  hate.     She  gazed  above 

With  unveiled  head  thrown  back.     Her  bosom  heaved, 

Tears  slowl  ywelling  stole  adown  her  cheeks, 

And  lifting  up  her  arms  she  suppliant  stood, 

Invokingly  silently  the  Unknown  God. 

XVI. 

As  though  retiring  upward  to  the  sky, 
The  sounds  majestic  died  upon  her  ear, 
And  silence  softly  sank  on  all  around  ; 
Yet  still  the  harp-strings  of  her  being  thrilled, 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  53 

Vibrating  with  a  new,  mysterious  sense, 

Sweet,  awful  dawning  of  the  spirit  life  ! 

Solemn  and  bright  the  golden  moon  shone  down, 

And  from  the  starry  depths  a  splendour  gleamed 

Like  distant  waving  of  celestial  wings, 

As  to  the  alien  shelter  of  her  home, 

Her  wondering  soul  inorbed  with  heavenly  light, 

The  Magdalene,  Christ's  miracle,  returned. 


XVII. 

And  ever  from  that  day,  where  Jesus  taught, 
In  the  still  coolness  of  the  early  dawn, 
Standing  within  the  crowded  market-place 
Amid  the  simple  country  folk  who  brought 
The  bright-hued  products  of  their  narrow  lands ; 
The  hardy  fishermen  who  from  the  shores 
Of  deep  blue  lakes  had  borne  their  glistening  spoils  ; 
The  shepherds  who  the  younglings  of  the  flock 
Reluctantly  had  led  from  dewy  meads  ; 
While  all,  close  gathered,  reverently  heard 


54  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

Wise  speech  of  gentle  counsel  from  his  lips  ; 
There,  standing  on  the  farthest  verge,  was  seen 
A  youthful  figure  wrapt  in  shrouding  veil 
And  sweeping  robes  of  dark  and  shadowy  fold, 
Still  followed  by  a  swarthy  Nubian  slave, 
Who  in  a  silver  leash  a  leopard  led 

XVIII. 

When  in  the  scorching  noon,  beneath  the  shade 

Of  the  Great  Temple's  lofty  portico, 

Its  vistas  opening  into  spacious  courts 

Magnificent  with  cedar-work  and  gold, 

And  hung  with  wondrous  glowing  draperies 

Of  ruddy  crimson  and  resplendent  blue, 

Filled  with  the  pilgrims  who  from  morn  till  night 

Passed  ceaselessly  toward  the  Holy  Place 

Of  their  stern  country's  fierce  and  ancient  faith  ; 

His  solemn  tones  of  urgent  warning  rang  : 

Amid  the  host  of  scowling  Pharisees 

Wearing  broad-bordered  garments,  jealous  Scribes, 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  55 

And  subtle  Doctors  of  the  Law,  who  sought 
With  cunning  questions  and  insidious  art 
To  draw  some  fatal  sentence  from  his  lips 
Which,  falsely  commented,  might  set  aflame 
The  sleeping  fury  of  the  fiery  Jews, 
Giving  pretext  to  stone  him  where  he  stood ; 
There,  on  the  border  of  the  curious  throng 
That  pressed  to  trap  him  in  his  speech,  or  shrunk 
Crouching  beneath  his  malediction  stern, 
The  scathing  rain  of  his  indignant  words, 
Was  ever  seen  that  mute  and  listening  forni. 

XIX. 

When  the  cool  softness  of  the  evening  fell, 

As  'mid  the  people  Jesus  walked  abroad, 

And  crowding  round  him  came  the  helpless  ones, 

The  blind,  the  sick,  the  maimed,  brought  to  his  feet 

By  those  who  loved  them,  that  the  Prophet  might 

With  powerful  word  restore  them  to  their  arms 

Made  whole  again,  and  healed  of  their  hurt ; 


56  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

Or  when  he  trode  through  dark  and  winding  lanes, 
Through  foul  and  noisome  corners,  stifling  courts, 
Wherever  poverty  and  wretchedness 
Dragged  out  the  slow,  sad  torment  of  their  days, 
And  ignorance  and  stupid  blindness  wrought 
Their  close-drawn  web  to  bind  the  spirit's  eyes, 
And  untaught  bigotry  proclaimed  the  Law 
That  daily  ground  them  to  the  earth  as  just, 
And  greed  rapacious  sought  to  snare  the  poor 
Still  poorer  than  itself,  and  mourners  wept 
Disconsolate  alone,  and  conscience  strove 
With  choking  sense  of  sin,  and  weary  toil 
Sought  feverish  for  rest ;  still  followed  him, 
The  shadow  of  that  silent  neophyte. 

XX. 

As  tender  mother  teaches  little  child 
By  simple  story,  that  its  feeble  thought 
Along  the  pictured  path  of  wisdom  may 
With  tottering  steps  be  gently  guided  on 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  57 

Until  it  reach  at  last  the  distant  heights 
Whence  the  great  sea  of  truth  shall  meet  its  eye ; 
So  Jesus  taught  the  people,  leading  on 
Their  minds  toward  his  truth  by  flowery  ways 
Of  parable,  of  simple,  childlike  tales, 
To  feed  the  growing  want  that  held  them  hushed 
Hearkening  in  reverence  to  his  ministering, 
That  ministry  of  love.     The  Magdalene, 
Childlike  in  ignorance,  her  thought  athirst 
For  that  diviner  knowledge  which  the  priests 
Had  never  taught  in  her  far-distant  home, 
Stood  earnest  listening  to  the  words  that  fell 
From  the  firm  lips  of  Jesus.     Day  by  day 
They  sank  upon  her  heart  like  blessed  rain, 
Calling  the  secret  powers  that  lay  within 
Deep  buried,  forth  to  beauty  and  to  life. 
And  as  the  world  of  spirit  to  her  eye 
Dawned  in  its  dim-seen  majesty  of  light, 
Slowly  her  conscience  roused ;  until  there  came 
Supreme  and  awful,  that  awakening  flash 


58  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

When  by  illumination  dread,  distinct, 
She  saw  the  image  of  that  holiness 
She  sought  with  deepest  craving  to  behold. 
With  high  translated  vision  she  discerned 
The  mirror  of  her  past,  and  knew  herself 
The  desecrated  temple  of  a  soul ! 


XXI. 

Dim  sank  the  twilight  o'er  the  busy  street 

Whereon  a  lordly  mansion  raised  its  front, 

The  home  of  a  rich  Pharisee.     A  crowd 

Of  humble  poor  stood  gathered  at  the  gate 

Waiting  to  see  the  coming  forth  of  him 

Who  all  the  city  stirred ;  for  Jesus  sate 

At  meat  within  the  high-born  ruler's  house. 

And  as  they  stood  and  watched,  a  youthful  form, 

Shrouded  and  veiled,  passed  slow  athwart  the  throng, 

Bearing  a  vase  of  alabaster,  carved, 

And  set  with  stones  of  price.     She  neared  the  gate 

And  asked  for  entrance ;  and  the  servants  looked 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  59 

Upon  the  precious  vase,  and  passage  made 
For  her  who  came  with  such  resplendent  gift. 

XXII. 

Fair  was  the  spacious  room,  and  graced  with  all 
That  wealth  could  buy  or  luxury  devise. 
Frescoes  of  Grecian  art  adorned  the  walls, 
On  Roman  couches  richly  cushioned  o'er 
The  guests  reclined  around  the  lavish  board  ; 
Silent  they  lay,  the  while  their  cold  eyes  turned 
With  curious  question  in  their  haughty  look 
Upon  one  form  the  ruler's  place  beside, 
Which  rested  wearily  as  though  the  day 
Of  labour  had  its  strength  full  sorely  tried. 
Low  whispering  among  themselves  the  train 
Of  debtors  and  of  bondmen  passed  around, 
And  eager  watched  for  word  that  yet  might  come 
From  him  they  knew  the  dauntless  friend  of  all 
The  poor  and  the  oppressed,  the  hated  foe 
Of  their  relentless  master  and  his  sect 


60  MARY  MAGDALEN2. 

XXIII. 

Awhile  that  shrouded  form  stood  motionless 
Within  the  portal  of  the  long-roofed  hall, 
Trembling  and  silent ;  then  she  forward  moved 
With  faltering  steps  until  she  reached  the  couch 
Where  Jesus  lay  reclined.     Upon  her  knees 
She  sank  beside  his  feet ;  her  veil  fell  back, 
And  all  beheld  the  golden  waving  hair, 
The  lovely  face  of  Mary  Magdalene. 
She  oped  the  vase ;  its  costly  perfume  filled 
The  spacious  room  ;  she  bent  above  those  feet 
Fevered  with  loving  toil.     Her  lips  she  pressed 
With  timid  touch  upon  them,  and  the  while 
She  bathed  them  with  her  warm,  fast-flowing  tears, 
Then  wiped  them  with  the  gold  of  her  long  hair, 
Still  kissing  them,  as  if  that  act  of  love 
Were  all  of  hope  the  earth  contained  for  her. 
Then  from  the  open  vase  she  ointment  poured 
Of  priceless  worth  upon  them,  sobbing  deep 


MARY  MAGDALEN'S.  61 

As  one  whose  heart  is  breaking  in  its  pain. 
And  Jesus  turned  his  eyes  and  saw  the  look 
Of  scornful  wonder  running  round  the  board, 
And  heard  the  inner  echo  of  their  thoughts  ; 
And  spake  to  him,  the  ruler  of  the  feast, 
"  Simon,  somewhat  to  say  to  thee  I  have." 
He  coldly  answered,  "  Master,  say  thou  on." 

XXIV. 

Each  sound  was  stilled,  and  every  breath  was  hushed 

As  Jesus  raised  his  deep,  vibrating  voice 

And  said,  "  There  was  a  certain  creditor 

Who  had  two  debtors ;  one  to  him  did  owe 

Five  hundred  pence,  fifty  the  other  owed  : 

And  seeing  that  they  nothing  had  to  pay, 

He  freely  both  forgave.     Now  tell  me  which 

Of  those  whom  he  forgave  will  love  him  most  ?  " 

The  ruler  answered  with  contemptuous  smile, 

"  He  whom  he  most  forgave."     And  Jesus  said, 

"  Most  rightly  hast  thou  judged."    Then  stretching  forth 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


His  hand  toward  Magdalene,  he  slowly  spoke ; 

"Seest  thou  this- woman?     When  within  thine  house 

I  came,  thou  gav'st  no  water  for  my  feet ; 

But  she  has  washed  my  feet  with  rain  of  tears, 

And  wiped  them  with  her  hair.     No  greeting  kiss 

Thou  gavest  me  ;  but  she  has  ceased  not 

To  kiss  my  feet     No  oil  thou  brought'st  to  pour 

Upon  my  head  ;  but  she  upon  my  feet 

Has  poured  out  ointment     Wherefore  do  I  say 

Her  sins,  and  they  are  many,  are  forgiven, 

For  she  has  loved  much."     He  turned  and  looked 

On  her  that  was  a  sinner,  as  she  knelt 

With  low  bowed  head  and  golden  streaming  hair, 

Veiling  the  shame-struck  anguish  of  her  face 

From  the  stern  gaze  of  hostile  eyes,  all  bent 

Upon  her  shrinking  form  ;  and  in  a  voice 

Of  tender,  yearning  pity,  Jesus  said, 

"  Woman,  thou  art  forgiven  ;  go  in  peace  ! " 


i. 

PORTENTOUS,  heavy  with  thick,  thunderous  gloom, 

Dark  clouds  the  heavens  shrouded  on  that  day, 

When  high  upon  his  cross  God's  chosen  One 

Was  raised  to  die  by  impious  hands  of  men. 

Against  the  lurid  sky  his  head  stood  forth 

Crowned  with  sharp  thorns  in  bitter  sign  of  scorn. 

Those  gracious  hands  that  healed  the  helpless  sick, 

Gave  sight  unto  the  blind,  now  bruised  and  torn, 

Were  nailed  with  iron  spikes  unto  the  wood 

Which  deep  stained  drank  their  blood.     Those  earnest  feet 


64  MARY  MAGDALENE, 

That  brought  the  beauty  of  glad  tidings,  pierced 

With  anguished  wounds,  distilled  slow  dropping  gore. 

Slowly  its  life  was  ebbing  from  his  frame, 

Yet  still  that  mighty  heart  retained  its  love, 

That  massive  brain  its  strength.     With  steadfast  eyes 

Gazing  above,  he  prayed  those  words  divine, 

"  Father,  forgive  :  they  know  not  what  they  do  !  " 


II. 

And  at  the  sound  the  seething  crowd  grew  still : 

The  angry  cries  of  fierce,  vindictive  hate, 

The  mocking  jeers,  the  scoffing  taunts,  were  hushed. 

A  chill  and  shuddering  awe  sank  deep  within 

Those  hot  and  furious  hearts  ;  a  human  pang 

Wrung  with  its  unaccustomed  thrill  those  breasts 

Of  bigots  and  of  outcasts,  flocked  to  see 

The  lingering  torments  of  the  Prophet's  death  ; 

And  with  a  sudden  fear  they  turned  away, 

Smiting  their  breasts,  and  left  him  there  alone. 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


III. 

A  group  of  women  on  that  bleak  hill-side 

All  through  the  dreadful  day  had  stood  and  watched 

While  the  tumultuous  surging  of  the  crowd 

Rising  and  falling  round  that  fearful  cross 

Forbade  them  to  approach.     But  now  they  came, 

Pallid  and  weeping,  and  beside  his  feet 

With  choking  sobs  they  took  their  faithful  stand. 

Yet  one  was  there  who  neither  sobbed  nor  shrank, 

Favoured  of  God,  the  Mother  of  the  Lord. 

She  stood  with  steadfast  face  and  look  sublime  : 

On  her  uplifted  brow  a  lambent  light 

Descended  from  the  dark  and  lurid  sky, 

As  though  her  sight  had  pierced  the  deep-massed  clouds, 

Cleaving  a  passage  for  celestial  rays. 

Within  her  eyes  prophetic  vision  spoke, 

She  saw  the  full  completion  of  that  day. 

The  Past,  the  Present,  and  the  Future,  kept 

Their  watch  beside  her  through  those  hours  supreme ; 

F 


66  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

Voices  swept  onward  from  all  coming  time, 

And  heralded  Creation's  Mystery 

To  her  expanding  soul.     So  stood  she  there, 

Uplifted  glorious  o'er  bereavement,  raised 

By  inspiration  high  above  all  pain  ; 

Stronger  than  Grief,  more  resolute  than  Death, 

The  Mighty  Mother  of  a  Son  Divine. 


IV. 

And  with  her  came  the  ghost  of  Magdalene, 
For  such  it  seemed.     No  tears  her  dry  eyes  shed 
Dilated  with  unutterable  woe 
They  straining  gazed  on  that  majestic  face 
Which  gave  its  silent  greeting  to  his  friends 
Even  in  that  dread  hour.     Her  pallid  lips, 
Parted  with  horror,  sent  their  struggling  breath 
In  heavy  gasps ;  her  hands,  convulsive  clenched, 
Were  pressed  upon  her  forehead,  as  to  chain 
The  agony  of  frenzied  thought  within. 


MAR Y  MAGDALENE.  67 

"  The  Saviour  of  mankind,  God's  Holy  One, 

Was  dying  there  in  torture  on  the  cross  ! " 

Nought  else  her  mind  could  seize,  nought  else  she  knew 

Within  the  darkling  boundaries  of  space. 

Each  pang  he  felt  her  aching  sense  returned ; 

Each  fainting  groan  that  told  the  end  was  near 

Lessened  the  pulse  within  her  sinking  frame  : 

And  when  his  death-cry  sounded  on  her  ear, 

And  he,  her  soul's  Redeemer,  bowed  his  head 

And  breathed  forth  his  pure  life,  thick  darkness  swept 

Its  pall  about  her,  and  she  senseless  fell 

Prone  on  the  stony  earth,  in  mercy  snatched 

From  grief  which  woman  never  knew  before. 


V. 

The  anguish  of  the  Sabbath  day  had  throbbed 
Through  its  dark  hours  of  midnight,  and  was  come 
The  first  day  of  the  week,  the  third  from  that 
Which  saw  the  Saviour  die.     The  early  morn 
Broke  o'er  the  garden  where  his  form  was  laid 


68  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

In  silence,  and  in  secrecy  and  tears, 
To  rest  from  anguish  in  its  close-sealed  tomb. 
Deserted  by  all  else,  one  mourner  there 
Beside  that  rifled  couch  of  stone  kept  watch, 
Weeping,  while  in  her  clasping  hand  she  held 
The  crown  of  thorns,  the  all  that  now  remained 
To  her  of  him.     Twas  Mary  Magdalene. 
Sobbing,  she  prest  her  shuddering  lips  to  those 
Keen  points  stained  cruel  crimson  with  his  blood ; 
She  held  them  to  her  quivering  breast,  nor  thought 
To  heed  the  sharp  pain  of  their  pointed  darts  : 
'Twas  all  she  had  of  him,  and  he  was  dead  ! 

VI. 

She  stood  and  watched  in  the  chill  twilight  drear, 
While  hushed  the  garden  lay  in  morn's  repose ; 
The  cold  gray  sky  as  yet  revealed  no  sign 
Of  rose  clouds  welcoming  the  burst  of  day. 
She  stood  and  wept,  while  aching  memory  traced 
Her  life  since  o'er  her  bended  head  those  words 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Had  sounded  from  his  deep  and  pitying  voice, 

"  Woman,  thou  art  forgiven  ;  go  in  peace  ! " 

All  had  she  sold  of  that  which  she  possessed, 

To  give  unto  the  poor.     Her  feet  had  trode 

Since  then,  alone  the  gloomy  precincts  where 

Disease  and  want  stretched  out  their  starving  hands  ; 

Or,  following  her  Master's  steps,  had  gone 

Forth  'mid  his  band  of  humble  friends,  to  hear 

His  teachings  to  the  people.     And  now  all 

Was  ended.     On  the  agonising  cross 

Her  eyes  had  seen  him  die ;  her  ears  had  heard 

His  last  expiring  groan.     He  who  had  saved 

Her  life  from  sin,  had  opened  to  her  soul 

The  way  of  truth  and  peace  and  holiness, 

Jesus  was  dead,  and  she  was  desolate  ! 

VII. 

And  while  she  wept,  upon  her  consciousness 
A  form  dawned  slowly,  standing  near  to  her. 
Mist-veiled  by  tears,  her  blinded  eyes  she  turned 


MARY  MAGDALENE. 


Upon  that  form,  nor  knew  whom  she  beheld. 
And  the  Lord  spoke  to  her  thus  mourning  sore  ; 
"  Woman,  why  weepest  thou  ?  "  he  gently  said  ; 
"  Whom  seekest  thou?  "  And  still  her  ears  the  while 
Throbbing  in  cadence  with  her  sobs,  knew  not 
The  voice  of  him  who  spoke.     With  pleading  prayer, 
Heart-broken  and  imploring,  she  replied, 
'  Oh,  Sir,  if  thou  indeed  have  borne  him  hence, 
Tell  me  where  thou  hast  laid  him,  and  I  will 
Take  him  away."     And  Jesus  looked  upon 
That  loving,  lovely  face,  and  said  to  her, 
"  Mary ! "     And  sudden  recognition  came. 
The  echoing  heavens  opened  and  did  bow 
Themselves  in  light  transcendent  at  the  word  !  , 
In  transport  of  thanksgiving  love  she  kneeled, 
And  reaching  forth  her  glad,  entreating  hands 
Her  soul  sent  up  its  worship  in  the  cry, 
"  Master,  my  Master !  "     Jesus  drew  not  back, 
But  said  unto  her,  "  Touch  me  not,  for  I 
Am  not  ascended  to  my  Father's  home. 


MARY  MAGDALENE.  71 

This  spiritual  body  which  thou  seest 

May  suffer  not  approach  of  mortal  hands. — 

Now  listen  to  my  words.     To  thee  I  come. 

Thee  have  I  chosen  as  my  messenger. 

Thy  lips  shall  be  the  first  to  tell  mankind 

That  I,  Christ  Jesus  crucified,  still  live. 

Go  thou  from  me  unto  my  brethren.     Say 

Unto  them,  I  ascend  unto  my  God, 

And  to  my  Father  :  to  your  God  I  rise, 

And  to  your  Father  !    Go  and  bear  my  words. '' 

And  looking  on  her  as  she  knelt,  her  face 

Filled  with  the  tender  transport  of  the  pure 

And  sacred  adoration  of  her  heart, 

Radiant  with  glory  borrowed  from  the  skies, 

The  Saviour's  gaze  breathed  forth  celestial  love  : 

Then  slow  dissolving  into  viewless  air 

His  form  majestic  vanished  from  her  sight. 


VIII. 

And  she  fulfilled  that  sacred  last  behest ; 


72  MARY  MAGDALENE. 

His  messenger,  appointed  to  proclaim 

His  resurrection  to  the  waiting  world. 

She  bore  unto  the  sad  remorseful  band 

Of  those  who  had  forsaken  him,  their  Lord, 

His  greeting  of  forgiving  love  sublime 

Ere  he  ascended  to  his  God  and  theirs  : 

And  then  we  know  no  more.     We  know  but  this, 

When  Jesus  Christ  was  risen  from  the  dead 

He  first  appeared  to  Mary  Magdalene. 


PRINTED   BY  WILLIAM   CLOWES   AND  SONS,  LIMITED,  LONDON  AND   BBCCLES. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-42w»-8,'49(B5573)444 


PS  Greenough  - 

1764       Mary  Magdalene. 
G851m 


PS 

1764 

G851m 


!**. 


